Forget moderation and repentance, Lent is now a chance to sculpt our bodies,
cleanse our minds and boast on Facebook about our self-restraint

What’s gone wrong with Lent? When I was growing up in Northern Ireland, it was pretty much mandatory, whatever side of the great divide you lived on. Now, there are so many opportunities to give things up – New Year’s resolutions, Dry January, Sugar-Free Spring – that the traditional Christian fast has become just another version of the 5:2 diet. Forget moderation and repentance, Lent is now a chance to sculpt our bodies, cleanse our minds and boast on Facebook about our self-restraint.

The problem starts with Shrove Tuesday, probably the worst prelude imaginable to a 46-day fast. In Rio, they have Mardi Gras (“Fat Tuesday” sounds far more glamorous in French), with two million scantily clad people sashaying around banging tambourines. In Turkey, they celebrate with folk dancing and a masked parade. In Switzerland, they turn off all the lights and walk through the streets with lanterns. In Iceland, there’s “Bursting Day”, when everyone eats their own bodyweight in salted meat and peas.

In Britain, by contrast, we mark the great occasion of Jesus’s trial in the desert by rustling up batches of lumpen pancakes, upon which – when we can prise the burnt bits off the base of the pan – we pile sugar, lemon and any motley ingredients lurking at the back of the fridge. The intention, historically, was to use up the “rich” foods in the cupboards before Lent began – but these days, it’s an uninspiring, watered-down excuse for a quick dinner. And it’s increasingly hard to find the frying-pan races, Shrovetide football and pancake-flipping competitions that used to provide at least some entertainment.

As for the resolutions themselves, they’re equally thin gruel. Of the three people I know who are actually observing Lent this year, one is forgoing bread and cheese (which she never eats anyway); another’s giving up swearing (“because I never stick to the food ones”); and the third has sworn off smartphone games. Only yesterday he spent his trip to work playing Candy Crush, so might have to give that a miss.

One school of thought is that Lent needs a bit of a makeover if it is to appeal to a cynical, self-interested generation. Hence the publicity given to the news that giving up cigarettes, alcohol and takeaways for Lent could save us £18,425 over our working life. Invest that money wisely, claimed Axa insurance, and this “abstinence fund” could amount to £75,000 in savings by the time we retire.

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It’s a decent enough idea – but associating Lent with money does leave a sour taste in the mouth. This time of year should be about sacrifice, spiritual discipline and self-discovery, not how much change is left in your wallet. The other day, a colleague asked me to “sponsor” her for giving up crisps until Easter Sunday – and if she succeeds, I owe her a fiver. Somehow, I don’t think it’s quite what the Good Book intended.

So instead of shunning the traditional coffee, chocolate or cake, why not follow the original principle, and choose a real vice to forsake, like oversharing on Facebook or gorging on trashy TV? Or late nights, nicotine or slouching at your desk – or hogging the bathroom, snapping at strangers, and spending all your salary before payday. Sacrifice selfies, staying out on a Friday night and being late into the office. Give up giving up on things – but don’t give up on Lent.

As for me, I’m determined that Lent is going to be more worthwhile this year. So on top of all the usual addictions, I’m giving up technology before bed. Until April 21, I won’t be using my iPad, iPhone or Kindle after 10pm. It won’t be easy, and it probably won’t be much fun – but isn’t that sort of the point?